Shadows
by Charshee
Summary: Something strange is lurking in the woods of Beacon Hills... As usual. The pack find that if they don't fix things soon, it's their necks on the line. You'd think they'd be prepared by now. **Set post-season 4!**
1. Chapter 1

_***A/N: Hello! Though I didn't plan on turning this into a full length fic that is what it has become. Be prepared for angst, horror, Stydia, and ghosts. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!***_

"Isn't that-?" Scott doesn't finish the question, his mouth a little open as he scanned Lydia's outfit. She only nods in response, Allison had lent her this dress months before that night, claiming that the indigo sheen of the material was more suited to Lydia's colouring. As sick as the Banshee felt now however made her sure that the hue made her pale skin reminiscent of death. The screams always drained her, but if she were being honest spending the night as the classic fifth wheel had left her a little queasy before all of this mess. Scott doesn't look any better, though. His jeans are shredded from knee to ankle and splattered with mud, and the dried blood was flaking off his cheek as he spoke.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"It was a whack on the head, he'll be fine." Scott reassured her, ever and his own stomach twisted with worry.

"I know. I just feel like-"

"It was not your fault! We had to look, we couldn't have known it was still there."

"What exactly was..." she gestured, unable to find any kind of description, "_it._"

"I've got no idea, but the moment he's awake we go to Deaton." His hands are twisting around one another to prevent the claws threatening to burst through his fingertips.

"How's Kira doing?" The banshee recalls the young vixen spinning through the air, her body graceful even in defeat, until it met a tree with a thump and a crack. Scott had sustained the nasty gash in his temple, courtesy of that _thing's _shadowy claws as he had rushed to her defense.

"She's okay. She heals almost as quickly as me when she's angry. And her mom made her some funky tea medicine to help speed it up."

Melissa pushed through the doors at that moment, they swung behind her as she ran to embrace Scott.

"Is he okay?" Both Lydia and Scott said, as his mother stepped back.

"He's fine, he's awake. What happened? What was it?"

"We're not really sure yet." Lydia sighed, pushing her hair back from her face as the relief began to melt her tensed muscles. "But we know it got away."

"So it could be out there now trying to kill other people?" The nurse's brow furrowed, her lips pursed. She is no stranger to life and death, perhaps that is why all these things came so easily to her once she accepted them.

"Mom, we're going to do something, we're going to fix this." The alpha swore, his honest eyes wide and certain as they stared into hers. Their unspoken conversation was ended when his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

"Malia?" He says, the second it's to his ear. The two women watch him listen to the coyote, his expression growing only more confused. For a few hours after the screams Lydia found that her hearing would slip in and out of the supernatural range. Malia's voice came in and out of focus "Derek is hitting the books...found another body...Sheriff searching old files...Deaton needs you..." He stowed the phone back in his pocket, Lydia responds before he can tell them.

"It's okay, go, he'll be okay with us." Scott doesn't need to question her knowing, an alpha knows his pack. He reaches forwards and squeezes her hand, his veins throbbing black as he relieved the pain of her anxiety.

"It'll be okay, Lydia. You know that if you hadn't found it it would only have snuck up on us." He smiles at her, and she lifts her chin a little. Scott McCall was one of the most respectable people she'd ever known. The bond she shared with him was one of trust and friendship, and it helped her feel a little safer in this world of nightmares. With a last comforting pat on his mothers shoulder he was gone, jogging just a little too quickly down the hospital corridor and round the corner out of sight.

"Sometimes I worry he's the worst thing for himself." The mother muses, Lydia tastes the edge of her grief at the death of her boy and the rebirth of her man, in the blood of battle. Or, wolfman. When she manages to giggle in her head she wonders if she's losing it again. As if she ever stopped losing it. She'd just sort of gotten used to the ride.

Melissa watched the redhead's expression for a moment, smiling when she realises where she's seen it before.

"Do you want the key card?"

"Huh?" Lydia snaps out of her own thoughts, blinking at the rectangle of plastic being held out to her.

"Go on. You know he'll want to see you." The nurse doesn't take no for an answer, pressing the card into Lydia's palm and turning to walk away before she can answer. The Banshee is nervous, although inexplicably. Her best friend is laying in a hospital bed because of her, and that is what finally pushes her through the swinging doors.


	2. Chapter 2

He was asleep when she came in, she pressed her forehead against the window, cooling her heated skin. The rain is assaulting the windowpanes loudly enough to block out the beeps of the heart monitor next door. Lydia could hear every third beep as though it were coming from inside her own head. Perhaps it wouldn't be so agonizing if she couldn't taste a scream on her chapped lips for the person attached to the monitor. But the rain almost drowned the thumping of an unsteady heart, almost.

"Did you bring grapes?" He asks, his voice hoarse but warm with pleasure at the sight of his unexpected visitor. She turns to him and for a moment is almost overwhelmed with the desire to throw herself into his hospital bed and revel in his continued existence. She had gotten good at wrestling it down, however, and in a second her spine of steel is straight and a smirk is on her face.

"Grapes? That's the best you've got? Did that thing knock your sense of humor off kilter?" He grins at her response, before pushing his bottom lip out at her in a mock pout.

"Quite possibly, although I seem to recall a few incidences that may have done that long before now." They both gave a half hearted laugh, he should have realised the moment he said it that it would lapse the conversation into an awkward quiet as they remembered, and mourned.

After a minute or so Lydia smiled at him, allowing some of her bridled relief shine through.

"How's the head?"

"Been better, though my only real complaint is how quickly I got taken out of the action."

"You wouldn't have wanted to see all of that." The redhead winced, something that made Stiles bite his lip with worry. He knew, however, that had anyone been seriously injured she'd have told him immediately.

"How is... Everyone?" He asked, sitting himself up a little straighter. She rose an eyebrow at him.

"You mean how is Malia?" She asked, false innocence in her voice, mocking his continued inability to voice his interest in the werecoyote to the Banshee. "She's fine. She broke her ankle tripping on a root trying to speed-drag you out of danger's way after you got knocked out. It healed weirdly, so she went with Liam to the Animal Clinic where Deaton can rebreak and set it."

"Smart girl, that one. Always did like her." Stiles said, a little smugly. Lydia resisted the instinctual eye roll that threatened to occur, but not before Stiles saw her eyelid twitch in such a way that he recognised it as suppressed sass. He was very familiar with sass. Something, however, some tug in his gut told him that this was not simply an eyeroll of frustration at his "gooey crush" (as Derek had once referred to it as when Malia's giggling had interupted a pack meeting), but something more. He held his tongue, mentally adding it to the "weird things to confront Lydia about the moment it's possible" list he'd been forming for a few days. Now would be a perfect time, if it weren't for the fact that his head was still spinning from its encounter with what had felt like a fist of lead.

"They've found another body." She says, after an awkward silence, "got to get back to terror and nightmares." She sighed, false perkiness like a sickening sugar on her tongue.

"I'll be out of here by tomorrow." He waved an arm at the cold, clinical room, which did not contain the only pillow that could put him to sleep. "We should all meet at the Loft tomorrow night, Derek and Chris can compare notes on creepy-shadow-monsters or whatever that thing was."

"And if there's more bodies between now and then?" Lydia said, she could not hide her fear from him.

"Then... I really don't know. We do what we always do..." He remembers another voice speaking his next, carefully chosen words, "...Protect those who cannot protect themselves." He added his own pack addendum to the borrowed code, "and, take care of one another." She gives him a watery smile, unable to hold back the tears that automatically begin to flow at anything that reminds her of the Hunter. The brunette had happily reported that her father had agreed to the new code over coffee in Lydia's car. The image of her laughing, eyes bright and smile wide, set a piece of Lydia's soul adrift on a seemingly endless ocean of despair. In her loneliness her body sought the closest source of life, she found herself on the hospital bed, hugging her friend for dear life. His arms are automatically around her, and he's upset but not surprised to feel her sobs shaking her form.

"I'm really sorry, Stiles." Her voice is shaky and uneven, "I never would have let anyone go if I'd known." When this draws a laugh out of him she sits back in shock, her wide eyes searching his face for an explanation. She can't tell if she's stunned or furious at his laughter.

"What's _funny_?" She demands, and he's happy to see some colour in her cheeks that could not be attributed to being worn raw with salty tears, so he laughs again before he answers.

"Lydia, you don't really believe any of us think you would send us in to danger if you were even a little be convinced that that's where we'd be going? You can't blame yourself for not knowing. Your powers are more difficult to understand than any of the other's. We all understand-" He pauses for a moment, distinctly remembering the snarl Malia had shot in Lydia's direction at the moment of the ambush, "-_most_ of us understand that these things take time. Trial and error."

"Usually that doesn't translate to 'life and death' situations as often as it does for us." Lydia sniffs, but she's beginning to feel a little better.

"You play the hand you're given." He smiles, and absently wipes a stray tear from her cheek, they both catch the way her eyelids flutter involuntarily at his light touch. She jumps up and away from him so quickly it reminds her for a moment of Kira's overly zealous accidental electric shocks (this had happened to the banshee once in the car, the resulting static was a hairstyle murderer).

"I've got to get going. I'll see you at Scott's, tomorrow, before the Loft. I hope you feel better!" Her wave and cheery smile were oddly unfamiliar in comparison to their proximity moments before as she practically ran out the door

Stiles felt a little ache inside that felt like some sort of emptiness.

* * *

><p>Lydia cursed herself, and him, for that little scene. She cursed her eyelids and his thumb and the way his smile hit his eyes. She cursed the stirring in her gut when she thought about him lately, and vowed to pretend it had never happened. As should he. Boys with girlfriends shouldn't go around stroking cheeks!<p>

She was caught up in her own thoughts and only a few meters from the hospital exit when she bumped straight into Melissa, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to a distracted Lydia. The redhead doesn't waste times with formalities such as hello, the nurse is chewing her bottom lip and her eyes are distant and cold.

"Melissa, oh my god, what is it? What's wrong?"

The mother turns to her, her hand hovering just below her mouth as if it hopes to catch the words as they come out. As if perhaps, if they are never heard, they may not be true.

"The body. The other body. It was a kid. A little boy. Just a kid."

At that moment a squeaky wheeled gurney emerged from the same door Melissa had moments before. The two young men wheeling it had the same odd expression as Melissa, an angry sort of despair. When Lydia allowed herself to look at the pitifully small body covered with a clean white sheet she felt stranger than perhaps she ever had. It was as if her jaw had been frozen shut, all the air torn from her lungs and replaced with ice that froze her into inaction until the body was into the elevator and out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

The entire town had been covered with a shadow of misery over night. The media already had the story. Wild speculations ranging from a tiger that had escaped from a zoo at least two hundred miles from Beacon Hills, to a gruesome alien abduction and dissection. The local news was always reporting something strange in their odd little town, people had stopped paying much attention, but this time a fire had been lit beneath the citizens. Perhaps it was the innocence of the victim, a young boy of about eight.

That night Scott was already asleep when his mother arrived home, but canine hearing picked up her sobs before she'd put her key in the door. He'd been with Malia and Deaton until midnight, and his mother hadn't arrived home until the dawn hours. Liam had been unable to hold her to the table during the delicate task of breaking her ankle cleanly. Scott had growled the grumpy coyote into submission long enough for the vet crack the bone. The howling started a conversation between the dogs in the surrounding neighborhoods which lasted for hours.

The alpha was exhausted, but he was out of bed the moment he heard her grief. The sheriff had phoned with the news just as they were leaving the clinic, his voice had been gruff with pain. Scott felt the dark scar around his soul throb in response to the evil of the act. He made her earl grey tea and held his arm around her whilst she cried. A few hours later, when she turned on the news and was met with the tragedy, Scott was not surprised to find himself tearing up at the thought of a life ended so early.

* * *

><p>Lydia got no sleep in the few hours she had in her bed. If she refused to get out of bed for the rest of the day her mother was sure to ask questions so she forced herself to down an obscene amount of coffee and took a warm shower to melt the ice that seemed to have infected her bones since the night before. Her voice had been completely snatched away for an hour or so after seeing the body. She couldn't put words to the emotion the body had invoked in her, but it wasn't sadness, and that concerned her.<p>

Her mother had decided to take the day off work. Lydia was surprised to find her curled up on the sofa still in her pajamas, watching the local news. Beside her she had a half empty box of tissues, which she was attempting to use to mop up the tears pouring from her.

"Mom!" Lydia snatches the remote from beside her and turns the mute on, "you never watch the news. You just let me link you to articles with vital sort of stuff. What are you doing? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Lydia!" Natalie pulls her daughter to her and holds on tight, "there was a poor little boy, something horrible happened last night."

The banshee comforts her mother, but can't help but wonder how the media had found out about any of this so quickly. Her inbox was filled with messages, mostly from Stiles.

**Stiles:**

**7:04AM: Leaving the hospital now. Home first, but I'll be at yours ****to pick you up around noon so be ready.**

**7:08Am We're going to the loft, btw. **Derek found some stuff he wants you to help him translate. ****

**8:38AM: My dad is acting weird... He told me about the kid. **

**8:39AM: If it's killing kids it's either rabid, like a wolf without control, or just evil. **

**8:41AM: It's probably evil.**

**8:44AM: ;) All better, babe.**

**8:51AM: Oh shit, that wasn't for you. Sorry, Lyds. :\**

**Derek:**

**5:32AM: Found something. In Latin. Need you here soon. Bring Stiles.**

**Scott: **

**8:34AM: Did u get home ok? **

**8:36AM: U asleep?**

**8:37AM: Text me the moment u wake up!**

**Kira:**

**6:00AM: Lyddddia! How are you? Is Stiles okay? I'm almost all better. I'll see you guys at Derek's tonight. Xxx**

Stile's bombardment of texts, particularly the last two, left a sour taste on her tongue. She bit down on her bottom lip as she rolled her eyes at Derek's military message style (as well as how early he set his alarm clock), smiled to herself at Scott's sweet worry for his pack, and wondered why Kira wasn't asking Malia about Stiles.

She responded to all but Stiles, wanting to punish him for sending her something meant to be reserved for his "gooey crush". Scott responded with a happy little emoticon, and she knew he was likely to be curled around the fox in front of the tv, syphoning away her pain as she healed. Kira did not respond, and Derek replied to her snappy response with a smirk to himself and a: **Sorry. Please? **Lydia didn't see the harm in critiquing the big bad wolf's manners.

* * *

><p>Braeden had been up since five. She'd decided to give Derek another thirty minutes of rest before they began their work out, but when she stepped out of the shower ten minutes later he was already sat up in bed. He rose an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged, replying with an innocent,<p>

"I prefer to air dry."

Derek watched her dress, taking in the way the light shone off her beautiful skin. He reached an arm out to her, but she laughed and challenged him to a fight instead. After dressing himself, and sending Lydia a quick message, they began their training session. Usually she got the better of him, but this time he had her pinned before she had a chance. He grinned, asking her if she gave up. But instead she caught icy blue eyes with smoldering brown, and brushed her lips against his.

"That's cheating." He growled, and their workout really began.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly when she opened the door. He was alone, so she just put her hand on her hip and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry." Stiles said, Lydia turned and marched through the hallway and into the kitchen. He shut the door behind him and followed her in, still a little chilled by the look on her face. She did not reply, simply flicked the kettle on and pressed power on the espresso machine. "I'm really sorry." Again, she didn't speak, but turned to look at him with distain on her face

. "It was a mistake, Lyds!"

Lydia was coating her true anger with layers of sarcasm, but she couldn't keep a little of her actual bitterness out of her voice, "I don't want to know about your wild romps with coyote chick."

"I mean, it was hardly a graphic message. You could've see a lot worse-" the look on her face told him he wasn't making things better for himself. "No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll double check, _triple _check, before I send anything raunchy ever again. Swear and promise." He held his hand up to her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Wrong hand." Even as she corrected him her heart softened, and she forgave him when he insisted on making both his own coffee, and her mint tea. She asked him how he was feeling, and he gingerly placed her hand on the side of his head. She ran her fingers through the hair there and felt the nasty lump the creature's club of a fist had left. She tutted at the bump which, combined with his whiskey eyes, caused the hidden wound on her soul to throb and bleed.

"Everyone is okay, though. So that's something." Stiles said, following Lydia up the stairs to her room, doing his best to avoid watching the hem of her skirt brush the back of her thighs, which happened to be directly along his eye line.

"Yeah. For now. We still have no idea what that thing is." She sighed, and flopped down on her bed. He opted for the spinning chair by her desk.

"Do you have to be so morbid? Let's have some positivity, please." He sighed, spinning in slow circles, probably not the best choice with his recent head injury. He felt a little nauseated when he came to a stop. "It wasn't anything kitsune-related, was it? You all got a better look than I did."

"No, no. It felt... Different. And Scott said it smelt different, too. Everything got sort of... Cold." She shivered at the memory, the dark mass had swept over them so suddenly, the cloud of dark mist that had engulfed Stiles as it struck him down. Lydia had been frozen, unable to help, and unable to run.

"Huh. That reminds me of..." His eyes shut, his head ached fit to burst. Lydia yelped as he suddenly fell from the chair.

* * *

><p>Stiles was transported into his memories, the dreams that had come after he'd been beaten into unconsciousness. It was very dark, freezing cold, and terrifyingly familiar.<p>

_"Why? I didn't... I wasn't... Why?" _A voice sounded out of the darkness, just beyond the few dim rays of light that filtered through the ceiling. The room was filled with the sound of breathless sobs, they sounded strangle muffled and distant, and yet they bounced off every wall and echoed around the room.

"Who's there?!" He cried out, tears threatening to begin welling from his eyes. He was filled with an overwhelming dread. Nothing responded, but something lurched forwards from the shadows, almost touching the light. Stiles backed away, clumsy in the darkness, driven by fear. It inched closer, and for a moment he could see ghostly white flesh that glowed like bones in moonlight, interrupted by dark and tumbling waves...

* * *

><p>"Stiles! Oh my god! Stiles!" She had rested his head on a pillow, and was pressing a cold compress to his forehead, hoping to wake him. He opened his eyes, reaching out at her blurry image and cupping her cheek in his palm. He determined her existence through the hot flush of her skin against his clammy hand.<p>

"Hey." He groaned, taking his hand away from her face and rubbing his own with it, like someone who has not slept for days.

"What the hell was that!" The redhead asked, helping him sit up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm okay." He gave her a weak attempt at a reassuring smile "

I remembered what happened after I was knocked out. When I woke up I knew I'd been... Somewhere. But it was like a dream, I couldn't quite see it. But it all came back. It was cold. I think it was..." he stumbled over the name, "E-Eichen House. I was back in their basement, I think."

"You don't think this has anything to do with...?" They had an unspoken pact never to mention the creature who stole his face unless absolutely necessary. It upset them both far too much.

"No... Or, I don't know. It was like you said, it felt cold. Different. I saw... Someone." Stiles tries not to picture his nightmare any further, he was getting far too familiar with supernaturally originated hallucinations and dark visions. Lydia sprang into action by following her instinct to lunge for her phone, and begin texting furiously. Everyone who needed to know of the new development soon did, and Lydia's eyes lit up as she read her first response.

"Stiles, get up. We're going to see a fox about a monster. I'll drive." She offered him her hand and helped haul him off the floor. His head swam for a moment, but soon his vision cleared and his head ached a little less. He put his jacket on before they left the house, and even turned the heating all the way up in Lydia's little car, but whatever he did he could not shake the cold that clung to his bones.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're carrying nothing, as far as I can tell." Noshiko said, her eyes remaining wary and suspicious nonetheless.

"But, you can't be sure, right? It could be... Hiding." He ran his fingers through his hair, his nervous habit leaving it sticking up at odd angles.

"Perhaps. But I don't think so. You won a great battle against Void. That does not mean nothing. Your spirit will have learned how to protect itself, or warn you, as it did before."

Stiles slumped back onto the sofa, just as Mr. Yukimura returned from the kitchen and handed him a cup of coffee. His wife tutted,

"You should not be drinking that, you should be drinking one of my teas. You'll only make it harder to sleep tonight. Kira, fetch the lavender tea."

"Are you forgetting the broken ribs, mother?" She replied, not looking up from Lydia's hair, which she was plaiting as she lounged on the love-seat.

"Kira, both myself and your mother watched you practice scoring goals in the back yard last night through our window when you were meant to be asleep, and you seemed perfectly physically able then." Her father said, ruffling his daughter's hair. Lydia giggled as the young vixen rolled her eyes and jumped lightly to her feet, disappearing into the other room.

Stiles tried to use Mrs. Yukimura's distraction to his advantage and steal a sip of his coffee, but she turned to follow Kira and swept past him, plucking it from his hands as if she'd read his mind. He caught Lydia's eye and made a face, and she laughed again. Ken Yukimura pulled a book from a shelf and handed it to Lydia,

"It's on spirit possession, and how to detect it. Your predisposition to sensing the other side will make it easier for you. Just in case." She accepted it, but did not miss the sudden look of hurt that passed over Stiles's features.

"Here, drink up." Noshiko handed Stiles an ornate, traditional japanese teacup. He smiled his thanks and she smiled back, patting his shoulder for a moment. Lydia observed with interest. It was the most affection she'd seen the Kitsune express towards anyone outside her own family. But since Void Stiles had been here a lot, picking the Yukimura's brains on their knowledge of the supernatural. Ken would pour over books with the young man, and Stiles would take notes as if they were in school. Noshiko would quietly watch, typically from the most shadowed corner of the room, and interject with personal tales and memories. The banshee decided she liked the development, Stiles obviously relaxed a little at the woman's touch. She was sure it was nice to be once again trusted by one of the only people who could tell whether or not he could be trusted. As jumpy as he was since Void's invasion, sometimes Lydia wondered if he trusted himself yet.

Kira promised she'd meet them at the Loft, needing to shower and change before Scott picked her up. As they were leaving, when Lydia had one foot already out the door, Noshiko stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Whatever this thing is, Banshee, you have the best chance of finding it. I can smell it on the wind: death."

* * *

><p>"It's not, you know, him." She tried to sound cheerful as they made their way to the Loft, Lydia glancing at him nervously each time she could aford to take her eyes off the road. The sun had just kissed the horizon, the light retreating from the day all too quickly for the haunted teenagers.<p>

"No, maybe not," he sounded doubtful, "but if it's not that, it's something else. Something killing kids." They sighed simultaneously.

"Malia thinks it could be some sort of supernatural animal. Like, not like the wolves. Some sort of true beast, a mindless animal. She said it smelt of... Bloodlust."

"If that were true, where would the supernatural come in?" The gears in Lydia's head were turning, expanding upon the theory, she spoke before he could answer, "perhaps it's some kind of possession? A physical animal controlled by something without a body of its own-"

"Like me, you mean?" He bit his lip, considering it, "I guess it would be easier for something to do that without a mind as strong as a human's. But that cloud around it wasn't physical. It felt really weird."

"It was like visible dread." Lydia said, her eyes a little distant as she remembered the feeling, the cold, numb emotion infecting limbs as she ran from the _thing _that pursued them. Their conversation lulled into a melancholy sort if silence, both lost in dark places of the mind. Being so absorbed in their thoughts, they didn't notice how off course they'd gotten. Stiles rose his head to look out the window, and noticed that trees towered around them rather than buildings, they certainly weren't downtown. They were headed to the reserve. He turned to look at Lydia, and was a little shocked at how pale she was. Her eyes were wide and glassy, and she didn't look at him when he said her name.

Stiles had few options, he could grab the wheel and potentially kill them, or he could trust that she was guided by something that could drive. He elected to trust her past successes in banshee-state and allowed their journey to continue uninterrupted. He slightly regretted his choice when she turned a sharp left off the road and into the woods themselves, and he knocked his temple against the window.

Lydia's little car wasn't designed for this work, but it soldiered on regardless as she dodged through the trees. A sudden swerve to the right and the car came to a stop. She switched the engine off, eyes still glazed, and got out of the car. Stiles followed her as she made her way through a particularly thick cluster of trees, her feet crunching on the dead leaves beneath them. She came to a halt on the other side of the trees, beyond which they found themselves in a small meadow, with a small stream running through it. There was something very wrong here, even Stiles could feel that. The air smelt heavy with something that made him sick. Lydia's eyes were fixated on the stream, and Stiles followed her gaze. Something grey and strangely shaped was protruding from the water. Stiles felt his blood run cold, a heavy pounding began in his ears. Lydia just stood, still trancelike in her demeanor. He was glad of this, it meant he could confirm his fears about the shape without her having to see more horrors.

The closer he got, the worse the smell, until the stench caused him to cover his nose and mouth with his shirt. When he shone the light of his phone on the shape he let out a yelp an stumbled backwards, landing on the grass with a thump. His yell snapped Lydia back to herself. She ran towards him, unsure of what had caused his collapse, or even of where they were, just knowing that he needed help. Stiles did his best to deter her from coming nearer, but it was too late. As she bent down to help him right himself she glanced at the dark shape in the water, and screamed.

The flesh was pale and rotten, what blood that was left hung in the water around it like a cloud, and the jagged edges of bones rose out of the shredded skin. Dark hair was caught by the current of the stream, dancing through the water in peaceful flutters of movement. Lydia felt her head swim, then turned away to vomit. She and Stiles tried their best not to look back at it as they stumbled back to the car.

"We have to go to the Loft, we have to tell everyone and bring them back here to look around before we tell your dad, okay?" Lydia said, her hands trembling so much so that turning the key was a battle. He nodded, wordlessly, his face almost as grey as the corpse.

As the Banshee made her way out of the woods she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw a black mist creeping through the trees guarding the meadow, a looming figure lurking in their shadow.

***A/N: Hello! I hope you've enjoyed the past few updates, leave a review and tell me what you think! This story will be traversing some pretty dark territory in later chapters, and as a result will likely be re-rated as M rather than T.***


	6. Chapter 6

**_*A/N: This probably needs editing, which shall be done tomorrow, but I wanted to get the new chapter up before I passed out for the night. Hope you enjoy. Leave me a review and let me know what you think!*_**

"My God, it must've been awful." Kira sympathized as Lydia tried to speak, but ended up bent over the trash can again, dry heaving. Her throat was in shreds since that scream, and this wasn't helping. Nor was the face Malia was making at her,

"You stink." The coyote said, her nose wrinkled. Kira shot her a shocked look, attenpting to signal the social faux pas with her eyes.

"Maila." Stiles said, with the tone of a disappointed teacher. Lydia just laughed, and the coyote bit her lip, regretful of her error.

"I don't mean like that. I mean, you smell like... Fear? Maybe? Or... Something worse. You too, Stiles." She said, earning a smile from the Banshee, and understanding that she'd caused no harm. Malia found it easy to communicate with Lydia. She was as observant and as talented at reading emotions as the werecoyote. Though Malia's sense of smell told her what she needed to know, Lydia seemed to have something else, some sense that many are unaware of. She had put it to use in her climb of the social ladder before, well, before everything. Now it came in most useful when interrogating possible evil creatures and comforting friends.

"Are you sure it was the same thing responsible? We only found out it was here yesterday." Derek asked, directing his question at Stiles but watching Lydia out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm no expert, but a body that damaged and submerged in water could definitely have decayed that much in under a week." Stiles replied, the image of the woman burned into his mind by fear. Lydia was chewing her lip, her eyes unfocused and distant, as Derek had expected.

"I didn't scream." She said, slowly, as if the thought were forming as it passed her lips, "the first victim, Becky Cartwright, the jogger who disappeared in the woods last week. I screamed for her, and that's how I knew where that thing would be. Last night, when they found her body and that little boy. But only one scream, and she wasn't killed the night she disappeared, because I didn't scream for her until days later. And I never did for that boy, or that woman in the stream."

"Maybe it's your abilities, maybe they're just not able to pick up everything." Scott suggested, and Lydia made a noncommittal noise in response, her head elsewhere.

"Is there a connection between the victims? Maybe we find the families? We do have an inside source with the police." Stiles said, and Scott knew that was code for picking the locks to the sheriff's filing cabinet.

"That's not what's important!" Snapped Malia, suddenly, her eyes begining to faintly radiate the light of her power. Her fists were clenched, and she paced the floor nervously, like a cornered animal.

"What's wrong, Malia?" The alpha asked, confused at her seemingly random outburst.

"Can't you smell it?" The coyote replied, wrinkling her nose at them. Since her transformation the thing she found she dislikes most about human life was the layers of ambiguity and assumption people seemed to wrap their senses in. There in the forest Malia had been the first to call for retreat, the stench of that _thing_ was enough to tell her that this was a greater evil than she'd ever known. When Stiles suggested looking into the victims themselves, Malia could taste blood like a warning on her tongue. Malia wanted nothing more than to grab Stiles and his jeep and demand he floor it until they were miles from Beacon Hills. Somewhere with deep, dark forests. There was a softer part of her, however, that couldn't help but feel embraced by the community of her pack. She loved these people, and not just because Stiles asked her to. They had her back, and she had theirs.

"We just have to get rid of it. Kill it. Or move. Everyone moves. Its wicked. Its _hungry._" The anxious girl twisting her hands together.

"We can't exactly all relocate." Scott said, gently. He could feel her anxiety radiating from her, "so we'll have to work on the getting rid of it thing." The alpha turned to Derek, "any luck in the family records?"

"Nothing more than the usual. Darkness, death, a plethora of possible murderous, ancient spirits."

"Ah, my favourite kind of information: the creepy and cryptic kind." Stiles said, smiling at Lydia when she snorted a laugh at his tone. She darted her eyes away from his when Malia paced her way into his arms.

* * *

><p>Lydia sighed, exhausted, as she let her heavy coat fall to her bedroom floor. Her limbs seemed to be made of lead, to weighed down even to hang the garment on the coat-rack only feet away. It was good then that her mother followed her, picking it up and hanging it as she went.<p>

"Long study session, sweetie?" Natalie asked her daughter concernedly, all the horror she'd come across on the local news and social media that day had her worrying even more than usual about her child.

"Something like that." Lydia replied, to tired even to bother lying well about her location. Her mother was already tidying the desk, however, biting her lip in the way that Lydia knew meant she had something to say. She'd finished with the desk and had begun reorganizing the makeup on the vanity by the time she spoke, "I just wanted to tell you I love you, and it's going to be okay. With the money and everything. Also," she pulled something out of her robe pocket, "I got you some mace."

"_Mom!_" Lydia laughed, but her mother interrupted her, her face serious.

"I'm not joking, sweetheart. I need you safe." She pressed the little tube into her hands, and smiled. Lydia accepted it, an unexpected welling of emotion filling her at her mother's attempt at protection. If only she knew. "There's hot chocolate and water on your nightstand. I love you. Sweet dreams." She kissed her daughter's forhead, breathing in the scent of lilacs that Lydia gave off. She left before the tears could fall.

Lydia watched the door close with pain weighing down her stomach, but she was too tired to comfort anyone else tonight. She was sure her mother was still heartbroken over that little boy, and she didn't blame her. Lydia herself felt an awful unease whenever the victims crossed her mind. She tried her best not to picture the body when washed her face in the en suite bathroom. Her teeth and hair brushed, she scanned her face in the mirror. It was a different face than a year ago, her cheeks more drawn and purple smudges beneath her eyes. Her eyes went to the edge of her bathroom mirror, which was covered with magazine clippings of hair tutorials and wipeable marker doodles. In the bottom right corner, surrounded by a neatly drawn floral border, were words that she could neither bring herself to read nor erase, so she returned to her room rather than do either.

She pulled on her favourite, least flattering nightshirt. It was an old one, Jackson's, and she rubbed the thining material between her finger and thumb. It was near to falling to pieces, but the shapeless cotton was soft on her skin and the way the hem brushed her thighs reminded her of times she felt secure. She never felt secure anymore, and she hadn't fallen asleep in anyone's arms for a while. Lydia hadn't been short of sex since Jackson left for London, but even the boys who stayed the night couldn't cure her insomnia with their dimples and delights on those lonely and loveless nights.

The garment that had meant to be a comfort ended up making her feel lonely, but she was too tired to change, so she slid between the sheets as she was. The curtains weren't drawn, and a waning moon peeked out at her from behind misty clouds. It wasn't long before her heavy lids shut.

* * *

><p>Her breath and the crunch of leaves beneath her is all she can hear, the night is too quiet otherwise. Where is she? The endless rows of trees around her reveal nothing, and Lydia wonders if she's been here forever.<p>

_"Forever and a day, banshee girl."_ A voice echoed around the trees, it's source unclear.

"Who's there?!" Lydia's voice is strange, like speaking through syrup.

_"Just us." _Came a whisper coming from everywhere at once. She started running, the air suddenly full of threat. Something began to laugh, hot on her heels, and so she ran faster. Her hair blinded her, the forest was dark, and the trees whipped past like spectators mocking her terror. Quite suddenly she smacked into something, and it hurt like running into a concrete wall. She thought it had to have been a tree, but when her eyes cleared from the shock there was nothing before her.

_"Alone again, Lydia?"_ Something asked, and she spotted movement in the shadows through the trees, but the voice came like a whisper in her ear. The movement moved a few trees closer, and she scrambled backward on the damp ground. Lydia had almost picked herself up when the roots of the tree closest to her snaked up her ankles from beneath her and bringing her to the hard ground with a thud, knocking the air out of her. She couldn't gather enough breath to scream, but fought hard with her captors. The movement was a figure now. Someone slim and wrapped in black, with skin ghostly pale. From behind the figure came a creature, small and quick. It darted back and forth through the trees, until the dark animal was upon her.

The fox tilted it's head at her as she kicked at it.

"It's a dream." She spat at him, "you're not real." The laughter grew louder, more voices in a chorus. The fox flicked his tail, and Lydia could have sworn the creature smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

"You okay, Lydia?" Malia asked, leaning against the lockers.

"Not even a little." The redhead replied, pushing her textbooks neatly into place. The coyote gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head. It was Wednesday and Lydia hadn't had a good nights sleep since the weekend. Her dreams consisted of running, running until her legs ached and lungs burned. Tunnels lined with rusting iron pipes stretched on for miles in her mind, filled with shadows that sobbed with grief and terror. She was always pursued by something she'd never wanted to see again, her best friend with his eyes so empty... so hungry for her pain...

"Lydia!" Malia said, waving a hand in front of the redhead's eyes. She snapped back into reality, and away from the nightmares in which she's always too late. Too late to save her, all over again.

"Yeah?" She blinked, and Malia rolled her eyes,

"I _said _do you have the notes for Chemistry? I can't get my head around it."

The banshee pulled the papers from her backpack and the two girls walked to their next class together. A group of freshmen heading the other way knocked Lydia off kilter on her heels, and she teetered in and out of balance. In the confusion of the moment one of the students brushing past her caught her eye, before disappearing into the crowd without a trace. Dark curls, and a winning smile. Lydia felt her stomach churn with pain before the moment was broken by Malia catching her half a second before she was sure to hit the floor.

* * *

><p>Scott had been thinking about her again, Stiles could tell. His eyes were unfocused, gazing out the window or at an empty seat in every class. In the caffeteria he'd not eaten a bite, just pushed the school-food mush around with his fork, his leg bouncing anxiously.<p>

"What is it?" Stiles asked him when he couldn't take it any more, which happened to be in the locker rooms after practice.

"What's what?" Liam said, striding out of the showers.

"Scott has been a sour wolf all day." Stiles said, and Scott just shrugged. Liam chewed his bottom lip,

"I wanted to say... I've been feeling weird. Since the other night. I keep..." He paused for a brief moment, long enough for Stiles to know he was mentally editing what he'd intended to say, "I keep thinking something is watching me." Scott nodded at his beta, giving him a concerned look, but his mind was elsewhere. What advice could he give when they still had no idea what they were dealing with?

Whatever it was it was stirring up some dark memories in Scott's mind. He'd been seeing her everywhere, but not like he usually did. Not rosy-cheeked and laughing, but deathly pale and bloodied. Her expression was one of despair, her hand reaching towards him from every shadow. She was always gone within a second, he only ever got a glimpse, any longer and he'd swear that she could be real, she was so vivid to him.

He'd seen her first at the begining of the day, stood by his locker. Separated from him by a sea of students. The moment was broken by Kira skipping up and pecking him on the lips. He shook himself, and gave her an unconvincing smile. She wasn't fooled, and cocked her head at him, but he just shook his head in reply. The fox had accepted that there was grief she could not pry into without making it more painful, and instead gave his hand a squeeze. Since then, however, he'd felt a pang of guilt when she showed him her affection. Guilt for the girl he lost, and guilt for the way Kira accepted his feelings with so much grace. He could not bear to hurt the vixen, and he felt that every moment he was absent from her he didn't deserve her attention. But every time he found himself happy, even for a second, since losing her he would suddenly be overwhelmed with guilt. How could he be happy when Allison, his Allison, was gone?

* * *

><p><strong>*Three Days Later*<strong>

"Scott is being weird!" Stiles announced as he strode across threshold the Martin's front door.

"Hello to you to!" Lydia replied, shutting the door behind him. She'd not been expecting anyone but the pizza guy. It was Saturday night and she had her only pair of sweatpants on. On top of the sleepless nights she found herself in the middle of one of the more painful periods of her life. Her mom was at her aunts, helping with some filing for her aunts business. Her mom had been complaining about the condecending way Lydia's aunt handed over the checks at the end of the week before she left, leaving Lydia determined to find a job and contribute, despite the hours of homework her AP classes piled onto her, and the supernatural disasters that consistently got in the way of her life and happiness.

"Sorry, hi, anyway Scott is being weird. Has been for three days now. And I don't mean his usual stuff, he's gone all jumpy. Always looking over his shoulder. I even think I heard him talk to something the other day. I think it has something to do with what we saw in the woods."

"You think something is following him?" Lydia said, finding herself automatically concealing the fact that she herself had been exhibiting the same behaviours.

"Haunting might be a better word." He said, as they made their way to her room, he lead her over to her computer as if it were his house. His familiarity in the space made her smile, and reminded her of all night study sessions at hers. He was always the first to crash. "Derek reckons its some kind of land spirit, like the spirit of the nematode itself. Or some angry, collective evil because of all the death here. I've been doing research into Native American beliefs, and land spirits were a pretty common thing. And not just here in the states, but in Celtic cultures too." He brought up her email inbox and clicked the links he'd send her earlier that day. She watched him print them out, and even staple them neatly for her. They'd devised a system between them, she thought her organisation had begun to rub off on him, but really he just knew she preferred it neat.

He stacked the articles on her desk, and turned to look at her properly for the fist time since entering the house.

"You've got something on your face." He said, and she couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"I was doing a nice relaxing face mask, I wasn't expect company." A year ago even Stiles seeing her so _messy _would make her feel nauseous and insecure. But he hadn't winced, just given her an easy smile and made one of his signature remarks.

"No worries! You look cute. Like a cute, green, Lydia-zombie."

"I do not look like a zombie!" She grabbed a cushion from the pile on her bed and whacked him with it. He immobilised her weapon in a bear hug, and she rubbed her face on his shirt as they giggled.

"You got zombie on my shirt!" Stiles laughed as he released her.

"As long as you admit I win, I'll go wash it off!"

"You win, always." He smiled, as she disappeared into the bathroom. The doorbell rang and over the running tap she told him to grab her purse from the kitchen and pay the pizza guy.

Stiles found the wallet in the bottom of Lydia's bag, and pulled out the only note in it, a lone twenty. She'd told him to make sure he tipped, but it felt strange that Lydia Martin had an empty wallet. He paid the guy, $16 for the pizza, telling him to keep the change, and returned the wallet to her bag. He couldn't help but notice a folded stack of papers in the bag, and his nosey nature got the better of him. He unfolded the papers and was surprised to find five different applications to five different places. Some half filled out, some empty. They were places he couldn't see Lydia working, behind cash registers and fast food counters. He heard her on the stairs and stuffed the applications back in her bag.

"Pizza!" He opened the box with flourish as she walked into the kitchen, looking a lot less green, and grinning.

"I am starving." She grabbed a slice and he took that as his cue to dig in too. They settled down on the white couch, the one that Lydia was strictly forbidden from eating on, with their pizza between them. Lydia pulled Netflix up on the tv, and Stiles rose an eyebrow when she went to straight to the rom coms.

"Don't judge me, I want to pretend love is real." She said, a tad bitterly, as she flipped through her options. Stiles stayed silent at that one, though it buzzed around his head as he fell asleep that night. He hated that he often didn't realise how alone Lydia must feel, with the pack's current couple quota, and her relationship track-record. He didn't let her catch him looking sympathetic, however, as he was sure to get another cushion to the head if she did.

She'd settled on one and was about to press play when her face crumpled in pain and she groaned.

"What's wrong?!" He said, immediately on the verge of emergency-mode, so used to tragedy and the unexpected.

"Calm down, it's just cramps." She waved his worry away. He gave a quiet "ohhhh" in reply, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Please don't tell me a guy as smart as you is scared of periods?"

"No! No it's not that. It's just, I'm used to Malia wanting to go on five mile runs on hers, she doesn't really get the pain thing."

"Yeah, well, lucky Malia." Said Lydia, as well as something under her breath that he didn't catch. They fell into a suddenly uncomfortable silence with the mention of his girlfriend, and Lydia pressed play just to break it. About fifteen minutes in, however, Stiles stopped "sneaking" glances at Lydia and actually focused on the screen for a moment.

"It's the Doctor!" He blurted out, pointing at the screen. After such a tense silence, Lydia jumped.

"What?" She said, confusedly, and the look he gave her was one of utter disbelief.

"You don't know who the Doctor is?"

"The Doctor?"

"Give me the remote right this second. I swear this will make you feel better than any movie could." He had forgotten all about the research he'd come over to do, intent now on improving Lydia's night.

They fell asleep with the show still playing hours later, the pizza box empty on the floor, and Lydia nestled between his warm body and the couch cushions, wrapped in his arms, as their uncconcious bodies had naturally moved to be as close to one another as they could. It was the first full and dreamless nights sleep sleep Lydia had had for a while.

**_*A/N: Hope you like it so far! Pretty please leave me a review and let me know what you think?*_**


	8. Chapter 8

When Stiles woke he found himself, unusually, playing the part of the big-spoon. He curled around her instinctively, burying his nose in her hair. It took him a moment to register what was different in such a warm and comfortable moment. He did his best to remember, breathing in the sweet, floral scent of her soft hair.

His groan of dreamy appreciation and something pressing against her backside is what brought Lydia back to the land of the conscious. She too was too comfortable and groggy to so much as open her eyes yet, and stretched limbs out luxuriously, before turning to face her bedmate.

He opened his eyes first, immediately disorientated when the face so close to his was not the one he was expecting. There was a moment in which he was caught up in an instance of déjà vu, sure that he'd traced her features with his eyes like this once in a dream. The moment was broken by her eyes opening, and meeting his. They were absolutely still for a few seconds in which they both sought memories of the night before, confirmed that there had been nothing they needed to address, and both cursed and thanked the fact that they could continue to hide their secret yearning. He then did the only thing he could think of in a panic, and rolled off the couch. He hit the hardwood floor with a thump.

"Are you okay?!" Lydia peered at him from the sofa above, "what did you do that for?!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." He replied, getting to his feet and wincing a little. She watched him stand, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but suddenly stopped and giggled.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly a little red. She couldn't meet his eye, which was surprising even her.

"Wha-" he began, but a familiar twinge caught his attention, and he grabbed a cushion from the couch, holding it over himself. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's not you. It's a morning thing. Not that you're not- I just mean- oh god."

"That's what woke me up!" She laughed, throwing another cushion at him as he visibly turned beetroot with embarrassment. "Put it down... I mean the cushion. It's not a big deal. Let's get breakfast. You can fry the eggs to apologise for your little friend waking me up."

They made themselves a big breakfast, Stiles insisted on not only frying up some eggs, but bacon too. Lydia couldn't resist good breakfast food, and they were arguing over who got the last strip of bacon when Stiles's phone rang. It was Scott, Deacon was calling a pack meeting and they were needed at the clinic at 11. It was 9:48, according to the microwave clock.

"Could I use your shower? I didn't shower after practice yesterday."

"Ew. You slept on my couch." She teased, and told him to use the shower in her bathroom, she'd use her mother's. She could help but think that he hadn't smelt half bad to her, when she woke up that morning her first desire was to bury her face in the chest of the warm young man who had held her through a peaceful night's sleep.

She chose herself an outfit and waited in her mother's en suite bathroom until she heard the shower upstairs stop, then cranked the hot water up high and hopped in.

The past few days it had felt as if there was a second voice in her head, taunting her every thought, but here in the shower the running water seemed to wash that voice away. Here she was free to examine all her most repressed truths without feeling as if someone might discover them, whether or not she spoke them aloud.

Outside of the steam Stiles was her friend, her protector, and her ally. Here, in secret, a great empty darkness was eating her from the inside at just the thought of him. Each time he smiles at her, all sarcasm and sweetness, she wants to kill him. Or kiss him. There'd always been a distraction, and she'd seen him too slowly. All of a sudden she's missing the adoration of someone who's adoration she didn't deserve in the first place.

The guilt she feels even now, with the near-scalding, cleansing water pouring over her sins, is nauseating. How dare she even think about Stiles like that? After everything he's gone through, after all they've seen, now that he's happy with someone who he cares about; how dare she want anything less for him? She is not easy to love, perhaps Stiles was saved from a terrible fate when Malia caught his eye. Jackson had been desperate to shake her, Aiden had adored her delicate flesh and soft lips, but knew very little of her mind and soul. And then there was Stiles, consistent and kind, ready with open arms when she needed him. She'd needed him a lot, since they saved him. Even with Malia around he made time for her. The hours she once spent in the company of another now were spent with Stiles, or alone.

Lydia checked her phone as she dressed, and saw that Scott had called them all to the Hospital, Melissa was on duty and was going to smuggle them into the morgue.

He smiled in a way that made her blush when they met in the hallway washed and dressed.

"I'm still in yesterday's clothes." He pointed out, "I'm going to go by my house, it's on the way to the hospital. I'll meet you there."

They made their way to their cars, beside each other on the driveway. There was an awkward moment where each of them felt the need to touch one another as they said their goodbyes. Their guts told them to kiss, but instead they hugged each other in a way you could mistake for friendly, if friends hug before an hour at most of seperation.

Lydia watched him leave as she fiddled with her phone, searching for the song that would help clear her head of him. Suddenly she was very angry, her stomach was tense and her head began to ache. Every tune seemed to echo her desires back at her, tauntingly. She opted for grumpy silence, and to think she'd woken up in a good mood. As she backed out of the drive she suddenly slammed on the breaks and gasped, spinning in her chair to look into the backseat. She could have sworn that when she glanced in the rearview mirror a pair of dark eyes, the lids a deep purple, stared back at her. The seat was empty, and she prayed to a God she didn't believe in that she wasn't losing it again.


End file.
